Sometimes it’s the crying and the screaming of it all
The only sign that I can even care anymore
I know it’s what you make of it
I know life isn’t fair
I know it could be worse, I was already there
Already took the drug
Already hit the bottom
Brought so many down with me, but they aren’t getting up
Sometimes it’s the lost sleep and the shame of it all
The only sign that I can even dream anymore
Morning hours, whittling
Seeking out the Sun
Familiar shapes and navy skies
Darkness comes undone
As the Sun does rise
Recognition blooms
Mysteries in the light becoming nothing new
Night is the basswood block
Hidden possibilities
Day is the knife
Carving out reality
A push to move things forward
No use waiting for a chance
“Life is what you make of it”
Something often said
Directionless for decades
Drifting through the years
Fighting hesitation and a thousand little fears
Leave it all behind
Choose progress over death
Find your strength
Take pride in every step
Passing through cracked sky
Slipping between clouds
Rising
High above the ground
From troposphere to stratosphere, mesosphere and on
Through boundaries, into the beyond
Deep space
Past the reaches of our familiar Sun
Seeing in a new light
See the universe undone
Fraying at the edges
Lost void
Grand precipice
Gaze into the well
Cast yourself and make a wish
Somewhere beyond the atmosphere
Mind wandering deep space
Starlight and sightless dark
Silence in my wake
Eyes to take it in
Flames into my lungs
Burn myself alive to know the warmth of the sun
Struggle for the day
Each taken at great cost
Non-renewable
You only live life once
Closing out the year
Another cycle ends
Weather juxtaposed
Last year’s snow
Winter’s dread
Seasons pay no heed to dates
Carving up the calendar
Each claiming their own stake
Darkened hours before the light
Sun surfacing slowly
Winter nights draw on
Cold heart
Cold hands and feet
Rise in the morning
Mistake it for dusk
Back to bed
Going back to sleep
Deep thoughts
Deeply troubled
Steep grade, precipice
Subverted and subdued
Perceived extremist
Contradictions in truth
Pain on the surface
Something hidden out of view
Perhaps a ghost, only visiting.
A mystery then. Quiet beauty and inner worlds.
She, lost in thought
I, lost in her.
Was it nothing?
A miscommunication?
Curiosity, or just simple fascination?
I can’t be sure.
A sense of words unspoken.
Burdened with the weight of years.
thInkStains 